Stepping Up to the Plate
by strumpetforhire
Summary: After the disastrous events of "Embraceable You," Woody wallows while Jordan decides to take matters into her own hands. JW, One-shot


Disclaimer: _Crossing Jordan_ and all related accoutrements and accessories belong to a group of people far more fortunate than I, and I lay no claim to them.

A/N: Takes place directly after the baldness-inducing ending of "Embraceable You." It will probably be obsolete and alternate universe in a couple of weeks, but I needed some closure!

Stepping Up to the Plate

"I can't accept this."

"I care so much about you, more than I think you know."

"I love what we have, and I would never want to lose that."

Jordan's words kept chasing themselves around Woody's mind as he lay on his couch, exhausted. He remembered the last time he felt that defeated, when he found out Cal was working for the Albanian mob and had placed Jordan in danger. Jordan. Somehow, his thoughts kept coming back to her, no matter how hard he tried to drive her from his mind. In the past few years, she had become his constant, whether he was thinking he could love her forever or wishing he could wring her neck. He wished he could give up: on her, on his brother, on all of the relationships he kept finding himself in where he felt like he kept giving and giving and no one seemed to care. No, he had to acknowledge that that wasn't fair. Jordan did give back, she just gave back at a rate that she was absolutely certain she was comfortable with, which brought him straight back to what he liked to term "The Ring Debacle." He knew what she had been about to say, something along the lines of, "It's not you. It's me," followed by, "Let's just stay friends," so he had beaten her to it. He had given up, told her they were better off as friends, and gotten out of that office as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore the hurt look that had crossed her face when he said they would never work out. And now here he was, lying pathetically on his couch feeling sorry for himself yet again after another round of, "I like you, but…" with Jordan.

A shrill ring from his phone broke the strain of his self-pity. He considered answering, but the thought that it might be Jordan at the other end of the line stopped him before his hand could reach the phone. After awhile the answering machine picked up, and after his voice relayed its prerecorded message, he heard the telltale dial tone that told him his caller had hung up. As soon as his home phone hung up, he heard his cell phone going off from somewhere in his bedroom, but once again, he decided it wasn't the effort of getting up. The ringing finally stopped, only to have the peace of his apartment shattered again by the ringing of his home phone. This time, the caller left a message.

"Hi, Woody. It's Jordan. I'm sure I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I just…I could really use some help on something, so if you get this…"

"What do you want, Jordan?"

"Oh, you're there."

"Yes, I'm here. Now, what do you want?"

"I, umm…I need your help with something. Do you think you could…come over here? Just for a little while? I promise not to bother you again."

She sounded genuinely upset, and as much as Woody wanted to give up on her, he knew that trying to resist Jordan Cavanaugh would be not only frustrating but fruitless.

"I'll be right over."

_Later_

"Thanks for coming over."

"What do you want, Jordan?"

"Just come inside."

Which he did. He was barely inside the door when he heard it slam behind him and he watched in stunned fascination as Jordan turned the key, pulled it from the lock, and proceeded to drop it down the neckline of what seemed to Woody to be an unnecessarily low-cut shirt.

"Jordan! What are you doing!"

"Well, you wouldn't let me say anything earlier, and I figure if you're willing to go there, then leaving is going to be the last thing on your mind."

"Jordan, let me out!"

"Oh, you want out? Glad to oblige. Oh, wait…the key seems to have…slipped. Well, I guess there's nothing for it."

At that, she placed both hands at the hemline of her shirt and began to tug.

"Jordan, stop!"

"But I thought you wanted out."

"I…I do, but…I…I…Augh! You are _the_ most confusing, annoying, and frustrating woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet!"

"Glad to know you care."

"Do you want me to kick the door down?"

"Wait! Wait, I'll let you out. Just…hear me out first."

"After you lied to get me here? I'll pass, thanks."

"I didn't lie. I do need your help with something."

"And what would that be?"

"I have too much food."

"What?"

"I need someone to help me eat it. Look."

She indicated her dining table with a wave of her arm, and he turned around to see what looked like a children's birthday party for two, complete with hot dogs, chips and dip, a pair of cupcakes, and the balloons he had given her. Closer inspection revealed paper cups and plates, and two children's party hats, all with Scooby Doo emblazoned across them.

"I thought Scooby Doo was a little more appropriate than Barbie, given our line of work."

"What is all this?" he asked, resigned to being pulled back into Jordan's insanity yet again.

"I figured that it was time I grew up and acknowledged my birthday, and you're the person I most wanted to share it with." He didn't like the uncertain quality in her voice.

"That's great, Jordan, but we've been through all this before, and I think it would be better if I just leave." He was tired and didn't want to go another round with her, especially not tonight.

"No, Woody, _you've_ been through all this before."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you ran out of the morgue before I got a chance to say anything."

"Please, Jordan. Let's not do this tonight. I know what you're going to say, and I can't hear it right now."

"I'm not going to tell you, 'It's not you, it's me,' if that's what you're thinking, and I'm not going to beg you to keep things the way they've always been, either."

"Okay, so you've found a new variation on the theme. That's great, Jordan. Now, if you don't mind, I'm leaving."

"Wait! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? Oh, that's rich!" Their voices were rising again, and Woody knew they were well on their way to their second argument in the space of five minutes. With this acknowledgement, he also realized that he could never win an argument with Jordan.

"Yes! What's wrong with you? I've been trying to tell you for days that I…that I…"

"That you what, Jordan? Go ahead; say it. Don't stop now. I'm not going to be able to leave until you do, so go ahead."

"That I…want to…step up to the plate."

"That you what?"

"I don't want to go back to being just friends, if we ever were really just friends. I want to see where this could go if for just this once we aren't interrupted by lunatics, or phones ringing, or bodies being discovered. I don't want every evening we spend together to end with a wave and an, 'I'll see you later.' I want you to be able come in, and stay in for more than just awhile…That is, if you want to. I mean, I know I've pushed you away so many times, and I'll understand if you think this is all too little, too late, but you have to understand that I have been so scared for so long. I've never been involved with anyone I…care about as much as I care about you. I never wanted to hurt you or be hurt by you. I was so scared of losing what we have by moving forward that I guess I destroyed it by standing still. And, I'm going to assume from the fact that you're not saying anything that I stood still too long, and I guess I should let you out now."

With that, she began to move toward her bedroom, where she kept a spare key. Woody was stunned into inaction, by both her confession and her abrupt ending. Something deep within his brain was telling him that he should probably begin responding about now, but he couldn't seem to get his tongue to comply. With an Herculean effort, he opened his mouth and said the first thing that he could force out.

"What?"

She whipped around, staring at him with a confusion that matched his own. Taking a deep breath, he decided to try again.

"Are you telling me that all this time you've been…that I…that we could have…I mean, Jordan!"

"Yes, I have been, you did, and we most certainly could have."

"Jordan…"

Deciding that words were not the way to go, he started to move slowly toward her.

"So, anyway, I have all this food, and I thought that maybe…"

"Uh-huh."

She wasn't moving away.

"I mean, there's no sense in letting it go to waste."

"Absolutely not."

He was standing directly in front of her.

"You know, with the state of the world being what it is and all…"

His arms were around her waist.

"Oh, definitely."

His lips were inches from hers.

"And…well, maybe the food can wait."

"I couldn't agree more."

And this time, no cell phones rang, no friends interrupted, no one leaned away from the other. And when Jordan walked into the morgue the next day, Nigel had the pleasure of being shocked not only by the smile that she was trying ridiculously hard to suppress, but also by the diamond "friendship" ring that glinted knowingly from her right hand.

_The End_

A/N – Well, there you have it, my first foray into the world of Crossing Jordan fanfiction. I actually had a multi-chapter fic in the works, but that will have to wait until after exams. If you've made it this far, thanks for indulging my need to do something about the ending we were given in "Embraceable You." Feedback is always appreciated. Please! Someone! Tell me what I did wrong!


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